My Second Chance
by meep615
Summary: Death isn't scary after you've died. Avior knows what death is like now and never thought getting his wish would mean this much pain. Disclaimer for all chapters:I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER (as much as I wish)
1. Chapter 1

Death is something everyone knows of. Death is inevitable, no one can escape it. No one knows what comes after death either. Nothing? Heaven or Hell? I didn't know either.

Didn't

But now I do.

Seventeen and about to start senior year. To be honest that wasn't at all exciting. I had always enjoyed my books rather than reality and the thought of graduating, going to college, getting a job, and settling down didn't appeal to me in the least. It wasn't an aversion to responsibility or not wanting to "grow up" on the contrary that had happened long before senior year. There was nothing that I wanted to do. School was easy if not boring, I wasn't a genius, but I didn't need to study to make A's either.

Earlier that month I had gone to pick up my schedule. Now off to collect materials I had no idea what was to happen? Then again no one truly ever knows when that moment is coming.

I dislike shopping, well abhor is probably better. While my mother went off to look at clothes and bags I snuck off towards the book isles.

I was never very loud or girly, I didn't particularly stand out, I was an overly average seventeen year old girl. Plain brown curly hair that liked to frizz and when short resemble an '80s Afro, overly pale skin that burned too easy and of average height. I wasn't skinny or fat closer to ideal weight with largish thighs. Overall I was completely forgettable and that was how I liked it.

Books were and always will be my escape. My favorite, Harry Potter. Tales of magic and adventure, of dragons, house elves, and horcruxes. I'd probably read the series countless times, watched the movies even more.

I had run my fingers down the new spine of the first book as if it were a priceless heirloom, letting out a despondent sigh I turned away back towards my mother. I hadn't been able to find her in fact I hadn't been able to see anyone. Confused I walked towards the registers.

'Maybe my mother had finished shopping?'

No.

"Mom?"

Wrong.

A man with a gun turned finger that had already been too close to the trigger squeezed from shock.

A bang. Pain. And, then nothing.

Death was... strange. Death wasn't nothing, Heaven, or Hell. It was dark, cramped, and boring. The tunnel of light was sounding like a much better deal than this. I became tired easily and when I was awake I had spent the time trying to move around. Key word therebeing 'trying'. What little I could move tired me out quickly. When I became to tired to move but too stubborn to fall asleep I tried remembering the stories and books I had read. Harry Potter made more than one appearance during those times.

I couldn't tell how long I'd been dead, but the space had gotten smaller so I knew time had passed. To be honest I wasn't sure I could take much more of this, I never was good at dealing with boredom. When my tiny cramped little slice of death began to squeeze I panicked. Flailing I tried to fight against the stronger outer force.

Cold and wet were the only things I could process as I had just been removed from my dark, cramped hole for the first time.

I screamed at the feeling.

Well I tried, but only managed an airy hack when actual air filled lungs I had no longer believed existed.

Bright

I could barely see, what I could see was blurry and did me no good. Giant brownish blobs passing me along so fast my eyes couldn't adjust to the new enviroment.

When I finally came to a halt, finally dry and wrapped in a nice soft blanket, my eyes managed to adjust enough to see that the blobs were in fact not blobs. They were people. Granted my eyes weren't tip top condition almost everything was still blury, but I still managed to see that these people were much much larger than I am.

I was smaller than them, wrapped like a miniature burrito, and currently being held by a blob person with long dark hair. Pieces clicking together I did the sensible thing, I screamed.

I was a baby.

It soon came to my notice that the blob with long hair was my new mother. Finally, my eyes started to clear up and the doctors and nurses no longer looked like huge blobs. My new mother is actually quiet pretty. She has long dark chocolate colored hair and the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen. Her face is the very description of feminine and aristocratic. Thankfully her personality seems less aristocratic and more gentle. Whenever she sees me she gets the big smile on her face and I feel guilty because ... because I still can't think of her as my mom.

Not yet.

One thing I was absolutely not expecting was the gender change. That's right the previously known Autumn has now become Avior. I should feel guilty about scaring the nurse who tried to change me, but I was still too busy freaking out because oh my god I have a penis now and I don't know how to use it.

Needless to say my toddler years will not be fun.

Months had passed I can honestly say that being a baby isn't fun at all. My muscles aren't strong enough to let me do much moving, and don't get me started on the fact that I have to wear diapers.

Even after all this time I still haven't seen my new father. Sadly I have seen my new grandparents, at least on my mother's side. They don't like me much. Grandmother called me a bastard half-er. I guess I'm an accident of an one night stand.

That's fine my new mother likes me. Loves me even.

She was ecstatic and probably not at all surprised when my first words were "Mama". Crawling and walking came soon after.

Unfortunately potty training took longer. My newly acquired... extension...was harder to use than expected. I suppose it didn't help that I was still a girl just ... just in a males body. Now even in my old life I wasn't exactly girly, but that didn't mean I was over the moon about the change.

When I turn four my grandmother hits me for the first time, I had dropped a glass. Hands clenched tightly I try to stop my anger from boiling over into tears. Desperately I wish I was with my new mother. A tight squeezing feeling and suddenly I'm airborne and headed for my mothers bed.

She never quiet recovered from my birth and gets sick easily now.

My stomach was revolting and I had to concentrate to make sure not to throw up. In the middle of my misery I noticed how my mother seemed so happy. I finally managed to keep my stomach from expelling everything I've eaten I glance at my mother. She claps and congratulates me on my first case of accidental magic.

Accidental magic.

Magic is _real_.


	2. Chapter 2

After that revelation I quickly became known to my mother as a bookworm. I gathered all the books about history that I could find and reach, I devoured them as fast as I could. But the book that truly changed me was "The Downfall of the Dark Arts" which told of a man named You-Know-Who and a young boy who survived an unforgivable and unsurvivable curse with only a lightening bolt scar to show for it.

No names were actually mentioned, did they really need to be, and it was the only book with such information in the house. Still, I easily connected the dots from magic to this history. I'm in Harry Potter.

Holy mother of god... or should I say Merlin?

I soon learned that accidental magic is indeed that, accidental. The only way to force said magic to work is to make ones self overly emotional. Not to say I still didn't try, I'll probably make Gryffindor for my stubborn will if nothing else. Half the time I hope I do just to spite my grandparents. Unlucky me landed in a pureblood house hold, apparently mother hadn't got the memo cause when I asked why they hated me she said that father was a halfblood.

My grandparents hate me, they made no move to hide or pretend that they don't. Even so I was a part of the Shafiq line, as such was not allowed to dishonor them more than I already was by existing. So I was tutored from the age of five. At first it was just manners and bloodlines, soon became potions and magic theory.

Just as in my past life I did very well, my tutors praised me as did my mother. For my grandparents it still wasn't enough.

I didn't think anything ever would be, but I didn't tell mother that. I knew it would make her sad if I told her so instead I talked about my lessons.

Out of all my classes I like potions the most. Apparently that was something our family is well known for, along with having our middle names as plants. I was actually better at potions than math, and I basically have a cheat sheet for that class.

I'm seven when my world shatters.

Mother dies her lungs collapsing over night from an illness not potion or mediwitch could save her from.

Despair fills me. Crying out for her as they lower her casket down I can feel my magic bubble beneath the surface of my skin as it tries to protect, to sooth my raging emotions.

Beside her grave sits a baby willow tree. In memory of a woman who treated me better than my first mother, a woman I came to love and think of as my mother. In memory of Lorea Salix Shafiq.

(Salix means willow tree)

After mother died grandmother and grandfather became much worse. I was taken from my room and given instead a closet/cupboard.

'Oh the irony' I laugh quietly to myself.

The similarities between me and harry just keep building.

I do learn to cook, thankfully not for them but myself. They have house-elves, Nippy and Slippy, for that. Instead, I must focus on my lessons and my manners. Seems easy enough, but nothing less than perfect is any good. On bad days at work for grandfather even that does not help.

Nippy and Slippy are sweet. Part of me always agreed with Hermione about S.P.E.W. except I didn't know anything about house-elves. Thankfully Nippy and Slippy taught me some facts about house-elves. I know that house-elves live off their families magic as payment, and without a family to tie to they wouldn't be able to live. I still think that they should be treated better, good clothes and common manners could go a long way. A simple please and thank you shouldn't be that hard to say.

The two house-elves tried helping me when they could, and I tried returning the help whenever I could. Nippy and Slippy are the closest things to a friend I have and as such if in need I will help them.

After mum died I didn't really hear my new name, Avior Fagus Shafiq, she was the only one who ever called me by it without sounding as if it were being forced out. Nippy decided to refer to me as 'the special' because he said I was different from the other magicals he had met and that made me special. Slippy agreed to call me that because I think she knew I got sad when I heard my name. It reminded me of who I had lost.

I'm nine when they first deny me food.

When I make a mistake in my lessons or am disrespectful I am punished. Physically or sometimes I take over for one of the house-elves.

I'm hit regularly, I've grown so used to having bruises on me that by now to not have them would be strange. Jinxes and curses are thrown in when they don't want to touch their 'dirty blooded freak'. But that's fine I can survive that. I'm nearly eleven now.

I'm ten when I can feel myself start to crumble.

In my last life I was treated fairly sometimes ignored and forgotten but never hurt intentionally. I was happy when I had found out that the world I lived in was Harry Potter.

I'm resilient and proud to be so, but there is only so much anyone can take. That night during my punishment I swore that I would never let anyone I care for feel pain like this, they wouldn't ever have to feel this hopeless and alone. That they will feel loved.

I'm cleaning the west wing when I come across it.

A giant graph like structure is painted across the wall. Lines that lead to pictures with names beneath them. A family tree.

My family tree.

My eyes scan for my mothers picture, when I find it I can hardly breath.

Beside my mother is a canvas and in it is a man with dark hair, pale skin, and long fingers. His eyes look black and his nose is a little to big for his face.

The name bellow read 'Severus Tobias Snape'.

I'm eleven when my world falls from under me.

I finally realize how cruel my grandparents are. My letter to Hogwarts, my freedom from this hell, was burned in front of me as they wrote a negative response saying that I'll be tutored from home.

That night I cry myself to sleep.

I realize how wrong I was. Before was not hell, this is hell.

Now that they do not have to worry about teachers coming or questions they become harsher. My tutors are canceled and I am forced into smuggling books from the library trying to keep up. Lessons were only kept before in case a teacher came to inquire, no one came. No other letter was even sent to check on me after the Hogwarts letter.

The only lessons still in place are potions because of how shameful a Shafiq who is incompetent at them would be, at least that is their excuse I know it's just so they can find more reason to despise me to hurt me. At night in place of a wand I practice the wand movements with a broken handle of a mop, and practice spells by forcing the magic through.

Wandless magic.

Before I had hoped to look into and learn wandless magic around fifth year maybe when harry started up the DA, but now it is a necessity. Without these small moments of magic I would have broken.

Maybe I already had?

I'm thirteen when I find the wonder that is runes,

A book so torn it had been thrown away, I had stolen it from the garbage. At first I was simply curious the books in harry potter hadn't mentioned runes very often and never in depth. And then I was obsessed. Locking, layering, and combining runes their properties and sayings. I was hooked.

Wandless magic took a lot of concentration and used more magic than it should. To me it was magic without a wand, magic I didn't have to force out of me, that helped me survive that horrid house.

I'm fourteen when they make a mistake.

There is a room in the east wing where I go to take my punishments. Grandfather has a silencing ward around that room. So no one can hear when I scream. But tonight is special, Beltaine, just like Samhain magic is stronger. Nights like these are when grandfather reapplies the silencing ward. Tonight however my punishment takes priority which means the ward is weak. Weak ward plus my magic being stronger means I could potentially escape.

Grandfather generally hits than he hurts. That means he'll hit me then when he is tired he uses spells. That day I had been bad, I hadn't been allowed food for the past few days (three I think) and had knocked over my ingredients stand in a moment of dizziness. The potion exploded, I had failed at the only thing I should not have.

But I refused for this to go on, I could no longer take this. So that night after being hit and having blood run down my back from the whip like belt I smeared the blood over the tip of my finger. It was time, my plan had many holes in it but this was the best I could think of.

He readied his wand

Willing my magic to the surface I drew out the NAUDHIZ rune. The banishing rune, I felt the magic of the silencing ward slowly dissolve.

He shouts a spell.

A violent red curse shot from the tip and slammed into my back. Fire lite every nerve ending in my body. It felt as if hot knives were slowly being driven into my skin and then viciously ripped back out.

I screamed.


End file.
